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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26432122">The Smallest Contract</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/theparadoxicalfox/pseuds/theparadoxicalfox'>theparadoxicalfox</a>, <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrulyMightyPotato/pseuds/TrulyMightyPotato'>TrulyMightyPotato</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Royal Flush [33]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Video Blogging RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Child Abuse, Gen, Guns, Knives, Mobsters, Murder, Organized Crime, but not an assassination because that implies political motivation, it's technically a contracted killing, there is violence but it's not described in detail</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 04:00:47</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,944</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26432122</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/theparadoxicalfox/pseuds/theparadoxicalfox, https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrulyMightyPotato/pseuds/TrulyMightyPotato</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>While on watch one night, Jack is offered a contracted killing from a rather unexpected source.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Royal Flush [33]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/699969</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>18</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>The Smallest Contract</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>And so our short stories begin! We'll be adding a new one about every two weeks, but since they'll all be individual works, it's going to be easier to subscribe to the series for an email when a new one comes out.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>December of the year 1921</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jack quietly rifled through the papers on the desk, keeping everything neat and seemingly undisturbed. Some of the stacks were undeniably legitimate paperwork--mind-numbing, time-consuming paperwork—but the rest were related to mob business. Some he needed to get rid of before they fell into the wrong hands and provided all sorts of evidence to the McLaughlin Boys’ illegal activities: records of the money they’d made off their gambling dens, various deals they’d made under the nose of the law, and, Jack’s area of speciality, the hits they were paid to do.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jack scowled, and glanced up at the door. No shadows were passing before the glass. Nobody was walking by. He still wouldn’t have long.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Technically, being in the office wasn’t a problem in itself. Link kept the door open for a reason, after all. Sure, Rhett wasn’t too fond of it, but Link got away with most things when it came to Rhett. There was unspoken trust among the men in the mob. There was no reason for the office to be locked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jack shook his head. It still didn’t feel right to be looking through everything here, but… he had to know.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The stuff he was looking for wasn’t here. Why couldn’t he find any evidence about the rumors? Were they false? He wouldn’t mind if they were—Rhett was doing a good job of leading the mob, especially with Link helping out.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But…</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jack sighed and stepped away from the desk. If the rumors </span>
  <em>
    <span>weren’t</span>
  </em>
  <span> true, then why did they exist? Rumors that the old boss—Rhett’s father—had chosen someone other than Rhett to lead the mob after his death. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It had been two years. Surely everyone had at least gotten used to Rhett leading.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jack slinked towards the door and glanced around the hall, fortunately finding it empty.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was bad enough the rumors existed in the first place. It was just as bad that they’d been around for </span>
  <em>
    <span>months, </span>
  </em>
  <span>since they were one of the things that had started driving such a deep wedge between Rhett and Maron.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Maron.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The mob’s former highly-skilled assassin.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As grateful as Jack was to be in the position now (he’d had fun dealing for the dens, though), he was worried. Jordan had only been gone for three months now. Not even. And he’d left angrier than Jack had ever seen him—not that the two had had the chance to see each other much, much less actually talk to each other. The most skilled assassin in the mob and a really good dealer spending most hours of the day in the gambling dens didn’t really have much chance to interact.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jack shook his head. Best not to dwell on that. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He rounded the corner, only to run bodily into Link.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Woah, watch where you’re goin’,” Link laughed. “Running into Rhett would’ve sent you sprawling.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jack grinned and stepped back. “I try to avoid running into people in general. ‘Specially with the spuds about.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh yes.” Link nodded, glancing over his shoulder. “Speaking of, Betty was looking for you earlier. She was saying she had a few questions for you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll talk to her.” Jack tipped his cap, then continued on past Link.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He found Betty in the regular play area, Willy thoughtfully watching over them and whittling something with a knife that seemed to be made more for stabbing than carving.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Jack!” Betty cheered, running up to him. “Are you going to be on watch tonight?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sure am. Why?” Jack tilted his head.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Betty shrugged. “Just… Just wondering, is all.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jack narrowed his eyes some, but let it slide. “Don’t worry, Betty dearest. With Uncle Jack on watch, nothing bad will happen.” At least, not to anyone who slept in the warehouse. Intruders would </span>
  <em>
    <span>definitely</span>
  </em>
  <span> have something bad happen to them.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Betty smiled up at him, but it dissolved to a frown. She rubbed her arm a bit. “Jack?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Did they tell you what happened to my parents?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jack shook his head. “No. Nobody has.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Betty made an uncertain face. “Momma died in the molasses. Papa was talking to someone over business of some kind and fell down the stairs.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jack grimaced. That sounded like mob business.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The person he was talking to promised my neighbors he would take care of me, but he was big and scary and I didn’t want to go with him. So I ran, and I found Killian, and he brought me here.” She hesitated. “If other kids like me need it, they can come here too, right?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Of course they can,” Rhett’s voice interrupted. “We’re not turning away kids.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Betty jumped a bit, but nodded, her smile returning to her face. “Okay. Good to know.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>With that, she scampered off.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The spuds are fond of you,” Rhett observed, watching the lot play and tumble. His own children were in with the mix, though unlike others they’d go home at the end of the day.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“They’re good kids.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Rhett glanced at Jack and smiled. Then, he turned and started walking again. “Oh, when you’ve got some time I have some work for you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sure thing, boss.” Jack called back.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>♣♥♠♦</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The world was quiet, any sound sneaking in under the cover of night muffled by the gently falling snow.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jack just hummed slightly to himself as he kept watch, pulling apart his rifle one piece at a time and cleaning and inspecting it. It had served him well in the war, and he didn’t want it to break down now. They’d been through a lot together.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jack’s attention was caught by the tiniest bundle of movement staggering in the streets near the warehouse.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jack’s eyes widened, and he was racing towards the doors as fast as he could with a rifle in one hand.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The bundle turned out to be a small child. They didn’t look any older than four, or maybe almost five, but something told Jack they were older than that.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He was more alarmed by the cuts and bruises coating every inch of the child’s visible skin, and by the unkempt and tangled hair all over their head and face.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Mm-mm-mister?” The child’s teeth seemed to rattle as they spoke, mouth barely visible. “Are you Jack?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jack nodded slowly. “I am. You are?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I- I-” The child rubbed their eye. “Sam.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hello, Sam. Why’re you out on the street all by yourself in this weather?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Y-you take care of bad people, right? Make it so th-they never hurt anyone- never again?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jack nodded, gritting his teeth. “I do.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The child uncrossed their arms, revealing they were wearing little more than a tattered coat and threadbare stockings for warmth, and pulled something out of unseen pockets. They held out their hands and opened the fists to reveal a handful of change and a single dollar bill.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A feeling of horror started rising in Jack.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Is- Is this enough? It- It’s all- It’s all I have, so I hope so.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jack knelt on one knee and was still quite a bit taller than the kid. “Who do you want taken care of?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sam dumped the change into Jack’s hand and rubbed their eye again. “I- I have an address. You need that, r-right?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jack nodded slowly. “Sam? Is your eye okay?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A tiny shake of the head. “No. It hurts.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jack frowned. “Can I see it?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sam swallowed. “Once I know they’re taken care of.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jack looked at the handful of change, and nodded. “Alright, kid. Who is it?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“My- my parents.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>♣♥♠♦</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The house was small, but incredibly well-kept.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jack tightened his strap on his rifle and walked up to the door.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sam had stayed at the warehouse, after Jack had woken Willy and explained the situation, and was hopefully getting treated for their injuries. They’d given Jack a bit more information too.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Like to make it as quiet as possible, if he could, because there were three other kids in the house.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jack crouched next to the lock on the door and quietly picked at it. He wasn’t in a hurry. He was here to be stealthy, not speedy.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The door swung open silently, proving that someone cared enough for the house that they bothered to oil the hinges on the front door.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jack stepped slowly into the room, eyes flicking around for any signs of the two parents.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>None so far. Sam had said they’d be in their bedroom, though.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>One by one, Jack slowly opened the doors and peeked inside. An office. A sewing room. A small library. Clearly, whoever Sam’s parents were, they were decently well off.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The room Jack peeked into this time had a lock in the handle on the outside and three children sleeping on the floor, with a single blanket suggesting space for a fourth. The window on the far side was closed, but the spots on the windowsill suggested Sam had managed to get out that way somehow.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The youngest couldn’t have been any older than two. An incredibly small two, and frail and far too thin, but still two.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jack scowled and closed the door, carefully locking it once more. They’d panic, but it was better than seeing bodies. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Only one door left.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jack’s slowly simmering anger just about exploded when he opened the door to find a lavish room: pillows and expensive decorations, and plenty of thick blankets to stave off winter chill.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And, under those blankets, two figures sleeping soundly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jack pulled out his knife and swung his rifle loose so he could use it if he had to.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then he grabbed one of the many spare pillows, slammed it over the closest face, and stabbed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He stabbed a lot. Each strike was calculated, but furious.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>This woke the second adult, of course, but Jack didn’t care.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He stabbed them too.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Once both parents lay dead in their own bed, and Jack was sure he’d managed to dull his knife on bone several times over, he carefully left the room and cleaned the blood off himself and his knife in the washroom. He closed the door on the bodies, then walked back to the locked children’s door and unlocked it once again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He slipped in quietly and began scooping up children. They were all far too light to be anywhere near healthy, and all whimpered and cried as they moved.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They all woke during this process, of course, leaving Jack to soothe them with murmured reassurances and promises that Sam had sent him. It was clear none of them trusted </span>
  <em>
    <span>him, </span>
  </em>
  <span>but it was also clear they trusted Sam.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They must have known about the plan to hire him, then, Jack mused as he took them to the warehouse. He had his suspicions about how the kids had known what he did, especially since he’d started doing it so recently. (Betty, however, was asleep and would later deny all involvement.)</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He just wished they’d done it sooner.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As the days turned into weeks and time kept crawling forward, and as Jack helped Sam bury one small body after another until Sam was the only of their siblings left, the only one strong enough to survive the hell their parents had put them through, Jack quietly promised himself that he wasn’t going to let anything happen to any of the spuds. He was going to protect them the best he could.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sam didn’t rub their eye the day of the funeral of their final sibling. Whatever vision it once had was now gone, and wasn’t coming back.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And Jack, Jack made sure Sam knew the deaths weren’t their fault.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He wasn’t sure he managed to convince them of that.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Poor Sam. :c</p></blockquote></div></div>
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